I arrived early like I did almost every day, between manicured rose bushes guarding a 3 story house slightly below mansion status. Mrs. Cray was always running around, her son wildly determined to loudly and obnoxiously interrupt her morning routine. She was always relieved to see me. I hoped for a raise.

Today the doorbell chime was met with a scream. Horrified, I stepped inside as the maid cowered behind the door. The boy whined, then whimpered from above.

“Katie, is that you?” a shaky voice called.

“Yes, Mrs. Cray!”

“Come upstairs, hurry!”

The boy had a wind-up spaceship in his hair. Mrs. Cray dabbed at her running mascara with a tissue from a concealed box in her spacious bathroom. “It’ll have to be cut out!” she wailed.

“Let me try something.” Running to the fridge, I retrieved some butter to lubricate the hairs and gears. It was startlingly immaculate. No time for awe, I raced back to extricate the toy.

After several grueling minutes, he smiled, “I wanna see the dancing chinchilla movie!”